Dreams
by Zoey Overbeck
Summary: Dreams... the formation of images from one's subconscious. Faces, things you've seen, and your imagination come back to haunt you. The dreams of the survivors aren't always as peaceful as they seem... The final dream shall be "Discombobulated Melancholy".
1. Future Rot

Happy Birthday, Beriothien! This first chapter goes out to you!

"Dreams" was inspired by numerous dreams and/or nightmares on account of over 100 hours of Left 4 Dead/Left 4 Dead 2 within a month.

Characters and category may change depending upon the new chapters that follow soon after on the other three original survivors (I don't think I will write the dreams of any on the new survivors- I don't like them very much). There is obviously no trace of Nellis, ZoeyxEllis, yaoi, yuri, lime/lemons, or any similar things of that nature. All events/dreams take place before "The Sacrifice" campaign's "Port Finale".

All rights are reserved to Left 4 Dead and the Valve Corporation.

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><p><strong>William "Bill" Overbeck<br>**

_The world was completely black… darkness was all around him…_

_His eyes were closed, he was sure of that...  
><em>

_He had to be dreaming… he had to be…  
><em>

_There was no way that this could be real… _

_And yet… did he really want to open his eyes…?_

It was relaxing here… It felt like he was completely separated from his physical body along with the pains and stresses he had accumulated over time as they faded away into the darkness. Distantly, some part of his brain knew he was drifting along in a void devoid of anything but himself. He could feel a sense of peace, even though he couldn't, or wouldn't, open his eyes. No zombies… no dealing with whatever zombie horseshit the world had thrown at them. As far as he was concerned, there was no more worrying about when the next safe house was going to come into view or how they were going to get enough supplies and ammunition to fight through the endless hordes of those… monsters. The zombies that were wandering around everywhere, waiting to rip into the next unfortunate fellow they set their eyes upon like a bag of potato chips. He couldn't even feel pain at the site where the metal shrapnel of an exploding weapon had embedded into his leg when he had toured in Vietnam; it was as if it never had happened.

His feet lightly grazed against a solid substance of some sort as he suddenly lost the sensation of floating and the elderly veteran seemed to fall backwards as gravity took its hold once more. He scrunched his eyelids tighter, afraid that opening his eyes would make him face the inevitable fate resulting from his rapid descent. Something was pressed against his back and his legs though, arresting his fall. It was comfortable against the bone crushing amounts of wear and tear accumulated over weeks of physical abuse from the infected humans, and the elderly man sighed in relaxation, stretching his legs. Just as he was getting used to the new environment around him, a small, warm bundle thrust itself into his hands, and his eyes snapped open in astonishment.

It was his home, only strangely, it wasn't. Instead of the semi-squalid conditions he remembered living in for the majority of the remainder of his life after being discharged from the Special Forces; this appeared warmer and more welcoming, even though it appeared to be winter outside with snow falling to the ground in large clumps. A good amount of the white stuff had already fallen and, looking outside, Bill could see that the ground and nearby houses were completely coated with the cold substance. Fire crackled merrily in the fireplace positioned nearby the overstuffed brown chair that he found himself sitting on, warming his very being to the core. The next thing he noticed was that he was no longer in his army fatigues or that he wasn't as old as he really was. Rather, he appeared to be at least twenty three years younger and was in his normal clothes that he wore- a light blue colored polo shirt and beige shorts.

Soft laughter attracted his attention to the bubbly child that placed itself onto his lap, comfortably sitting on the veteran's legs and grinning impishly, eyes twinkling with sheer joy. She was probably no more than five or six years old. The child was a brunette, her hair tied into a messy ponytail by a bright red hair tie under _his _beret that he had used during the Vietnam War. It was positioned on her head at an angle, partially obscuring one of her eyes. She was wearing a bright red and white track suit, similar to the one that belonged to…

"Zoey…" Bill whispered, unable to believe what he as seeing.  
>"Daddy, daddy!" Zoey cried, stretching her small arms towards him. "Up, up, up! Please, please, please, up, up, up!"<p>

Bill stood open-mouthed in wonder as he saw the incarnation of his companion as his daughter. This was essentially a vision of what _could have_ been if he had got together with the love of his life instead of becoming reclusive and bitter to the world.

"Up!" Zoey begged again, her bright green eyes growing wide as she tried as best as she could to imitate the puppy pout face.  
>"Come on, William", a sweet voice jokingly implored. "Zoey wants to be picked up by her daddy!" his 'wife' added, looking at the pair through the door frame with a small smile growing on her face.<p>

She had brown hair that was cut just below her shoulders, dark eyes that shone brilliantly in the light of the fireplace, and had a growing smile on her pleasant looking face. Monogrammed in bright red cursive lettering onto the shirt she was wearing was "Tonya". Bill could distantly remember the times they spent at college together. They were both in the same classes for most of college, working together on most projects that were given to them by the teachers, spending time talking with one another in between doing homework, and on one occasion, helping her build a computer of some sorts. Though they were polar opposites, Tonya easily being able to socialize and work in groups while Bill was unable to, they still forged a bond between themselves, which was all that really mattered.

However, Zoey lightly tugging on his shirt shook him out of his reverie and brought him back to the present, or what was deemed as the present at the time. Momentarily hesitating, the war veteran lifted the small child from his lap and into the air, the latter giggling madly and uttering loud howls of laughter. Sure he had considered Zoey to be like a daughter to him, becoming closely bonded with one another through the weeks spent struggling to survive, but he didn't actually think that it would one day manifest itself in his dreams. Once Bill put her down, however, Zoey childishly began the process of ruffling Bill's hair and shaping it into a semi Mohawk-like shape despite the lack of hair gel causing the veteran's hair to fall down again and again. Bill quirked a graying eyebrow in amusement as Zoey ignored his bemused reaction to continue playing with the veteran's brown-reddish hair.

"Happy birthday, daddy!" Zoey chirped happily, burying her face into Bill's chest before pulling away to perfect the Mohawk she made. "Mommy made cake and this time, it doesn't have grapefruit in it!"  
>"Hey, I thought grapefruit would go with kiwis and the cantaloupe in the cake" Tonya replied in between light chuckles, shrugging her shoulders good naturally. Her eyes trailed to Bill's head as he gazed upon what the small girl was doing, lightly shaking her head as Zoey continued her single-minded task. "Okay, kiddo, it's time for your nap."<p>

Bill's 'wife' gently pulled Zoey away from him, the small child continually giggling madly at the veteran's new hairdo with her hands still outstretched towards him. The family dog soon took its place on Bill's lap, content with simply curling up and batting a paw at an itch on its muzzle. Zoey playfully stuck her tongue out at the dog while it merely shook its curly milky white fur in response and prepared for a comfortable snooze on Bill's lap.

"Goo Snickers" Zoey babbled, peering over her mother's shoulder to look at the three month old Maltese-Shih Tzu puppy as both mother and child began to move to another part of the house. "Goo doggie!"

Zoey and Bill's eyes were still locked on each other the whole time, and the veteran could still feel the gaze of her grass-green eyes, even though she had disappeared from view.

Then, the vision changed abruptly, going as quickly as it had came. The house faded away into wisps of white smoke, which then was blown away by an un-felt wind.

_What the..._

He was now in his proper age and in his usual ensemble , dressed in army fatigues and floating above a nightmarish scene that unfolded below him. Ashes were now blowing in the heavily polluted air, drifting down to the ground below like snow from pitch-black clouds ominously hanging around the destroyed city. Flames had erupted out of nowhere, burning everything man had worked for to the cold, unfeeling ground. Infected roamed the streets freely, stumbling their way through the empty concrete jungle. The sounds of distant gunfire cutting through the mobs of teeming zombies drew the attention of both the veteran and infected alike. The infected snarled at the sudden disturbance, whipping around and rushed at the pack of non-infected individuals.

The trio, two males and a female, bravely staged their stand against the zombies, fighting with every muscle in their body even against the impossible odds. It seemed as they made their way through the fallen city that they were going to make it out alive to the ship that awaited them at the shore. However, the unfortunate distraction of a raging Tank allowed a crafty Hunter to pounce and tear one of the trio's member into pieces. Frantic shooting from the other two members hit an alarmed car, which then pierced the sky with its wails. Panicking, the duo frantically tried to stop the Tank by lighting it on fire with a Molotov, but it hardly did anything. By this time, both the Hunter and the common infected were beginning to feast upon the man's body like savage animals.

Alarmed at the prospect of innocent survivors suffering the cruel fate that seemed to befall upon them, Bill subconsciously reached to his back for his trusty Assault Rifle, but it was not there. His ocean blue eyes widened and his breath hitched, realizing he could do nothing to save them.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit,** shit**!_

Bill could only watch, helpless, as the trio of survivors steadily became overwhelmed by the swarm of infected. He wanted to do something, but he found himself rooted to his spot far away from the three unlucky survivors, unable to move his legs or even drift towards them in the bleak hopes of somehow being able to protect the threes.

"No!" the female loudly howled in despair and tried to make her way over to free him as the other male tried to distract the hulking mass of muscle, but was caught by a speeding tongue owned by a sneaky Smoker that hid in the shadows.

Her screams of anguish were cut off by the Smoker's tongue tightening around her throat, squeezing the very life out of her. Her thin, pianist-like fingers tried to claw at the tongue as raspy wheezes where forced out of her mouth, but were promptly restrained by the tongue pinning them to her sides. The other male tried to get to her, but the Tank swung its mighty, flaming fists at him, causing him to run in the opposite direction from the two no matter how hard he tried to get to them and dodge the incoming danger at the same time.

_I don't want to see this... please..._ Bill thought, looking away as the sounds of the carnage forced their way to his ears, even when he tried his hardest to ignore them.

... But he did, and he was horrified at what he saw. With two of the members incapacitated, the fight had been tipped to the infected's favor. With the crushing force of an oncoming train, the Tank had smashed the life out of the other male with one swing before turning to the choking female and evilly grinning. Wrenching her out of the Smoker's grasp, it easily held her above its head and completely snapped her back into two pieces like it was a twig. It triumphantly pounded its meaty fists on its massive chest soon afterward, roaring in delight after dropping the small college girl on the ground.

The woman gasped her last breaths and a great shuddering took hold of her body. Free of the Smoker's tongue, she raised a trembling hand to the sky, her green eyes gazing at the heavens towards Bill, as if she could see them. She appeared to mouth the words "Why, Bill, why?" to the elderly veteran and inhaled one last, ragged breath before she fell silent, limp and unmoving as a pool of crimson red blood spilled and infected swarmed around her. The hand never fell to the ground. Her gaze never left Bill or the skies. The Tank did not bother with the victim pinned under the Hunter- the burning fire of his life had flickered, sputtered, and now was extinguished for good.

Finally being able to draw closer, his horrified face slid into an expression of utter sorrow. Lying near the bloody heaps of zombies they had slain, with huge chunks or whole parts of them missing, were Francis, Louis, and Zoey. Their faces were forever frozen in horror, blood spurting out of their mouths and the gaping wounds in their bodies as the crazed infected continued to feed on them. Francis wasn't even recognizable anymore with the Hunter ripping his flesh and tossing bits of his intestines into the air like confetti. Louis was a mess; his body was splattered on the ground from the Tank's fatal blow to the businessman's chest. Zoey, in particular, died with a sad, betrayed look upon her face while her body remained a crumpled heap, her once bright eyes now growing cloudy and dull as the light permanently left them.

_Goddammit! **No, no, no, no, no!**_

Bill awoke, completely drenched in his sweat. The veteran shot out of his 'bed' in alarm and clutched his chest as his heart pounded furiously against his rib cage. The veteran nervously reached in a pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with shaking hands and taking reprieve with the sharp taste of nicotine. Francis shook the safe house with his thunderous snores reverberating in the small room; who knows what the man could be dreaming about now. Louis had staked a corner far away from the biker, the businessman choosing to sleep in a sitting position with his hands crossed in front of his chest. Judging by the expression on his face, he probably wasn't dreaming of anything. Zoey was curled up a few feet away from him, clutching her prized Hunting Rifle as if it were a stuffed animal of some sort and murmuring words unintelligible to anyone else but herself. Sometimes she started lightly rubbing a cheek against it or gently gnawing on it. Odds are, she was probably dreaming about eating a delicious meal with her family- her _real, _not-divorced family.

Inhaling some of the smoke, he relaxed as he saw the slumbering forms of his teammates asleep nearby, still alive and in one piece. Running a hand thorough his gray hair, he pondered on his dream as he finished the rest of the cigarette before carefully extinguishing it with his foot and tossing the cigarette butt somewhere. He crawled back into his dirt-caked sleeping bag and lay on his side with his eyes tightly shut, unsure if he was going to sleep or even get the images out of his head. He silently lay in his sleeping bag for hours, just endlessly worrying. As he lay awake, he now realized that his purpose that besides being the leader, he was the protector of this little tribe, his family that he never had. He had to make sure they remained safe, even at the cost of his life. Finally, the weary veteran passed out just as the sun peeked over the ruined country with five words echoing in his mind.

_**"We look after our own"**  
><em>

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><p>Once again, a very happy birthday to Beriothien, and an apology for accidentally forgetting about it last year... *sweatdrop*<p>

The Sacrifice comic shows that Bill had reddish-brown hair when he toured in Vietnam. I made Bill's age around the mid-sixties to seventy years old in this story instead of over seventy years old (as I have done in "No Mercy") due to computers being relatively new at that time.

Inspiration for Bill's dream stemmed from the fact that he seems to be very protective of the group and even treats them like his family (even Francis). I thought that if Bill cares for Zoey like she was his daughter... well... this was the result. Originally, Francis and Louis were supposed to be in the first part of Bill's dream as brother and step-brother, respectively, but it was cut.

Next up is Zoey, where she finally gets her revenge on her trio of tormentors.


	2. Corrupted Beauty

This dream was inspired by a game of Pandemic II, where I finally managed to infect the whole world with a virus (appropriately named "The Green Flu" and released into the North American region) and won... after nearly a hundred retries.

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><p><strong>Zoey<strong>

_Drip... drip... drip...  
><em>**I have a horrible feeling... something's watching me...  
><strong>_Creak..._**  
>It's waiting for me...<strong>_  
>Splash... splash... splash...<em>  
><strong>Help me...<strong>  
><em>Splash...<br>_**Why can't I remember anything?**_  
>Thump, thump, thump...<br>_**Where... am I?**_  
>Cough...<br>_**Who am I?**  
><em>Thump...<br>_**Fight...**_  
>Wheeze...<br>_**Survive...**

A lone figure made its way through the dark, ruined city, looking frantically at its surroundings and noticeably flinching every time something moved nearby. Already, this solitary traveler had gone through hell and hellfire just to get to the other side of the urban jungle, fighting off monsters at every turn with every ounce of willpower it possessed.

Its bruised and battered hand clutched a rusted railing on the side of a building before the figure pressed on, desperate to find any kind of shelter from the hellish world it found itself in. Fresh rainwater dripped from the grey structures that had once stretched towards the heavens before falling to the cracked asphalt below. Large puddles had formed in the streets and alleys of the forsaken city, the muddy water splashing loudly in the urban jungle each time it was stepped in. Dirtied fingernails worriedly brushed against sopping wet clothing, their owner currently too preoccupied with making it out of the city alive despite being alone to worry about cleaning them. Its companions had been mercilessly killed off by the savage creatures that prowled the city looking only for their next meal. Perhaps that's what made the darkness so unsettling despite being able to see near perfectly due to its eyes being used to the lack of light.

The moon shone brightly overhead, suddenly piercing through an opening in the dark gray clouds to shine its rays upon the post-apocalypse wrecked world. All around, the buildings were colored black and grey from the numerous fires that ravaged the infected city, all efforts to save it having been abandoned by CEDA and the American military some time ago. The lone figure repressed a shiver as its wet clothes clung to its pale, cold, and clammy skin, a gust of wind having enhanced the already terrible chill. Earlier it had leaped into an open manhole to escape the monsters that only lived to kill. Having seen such a monster up close and personal, one that had almost succeeded in killing it, instilled a morbid fear within the battered figure's mind. Therefore, it had its eyes and ears constantly on the alert for more of those… _things…_

It stopped, nose registering a scent that seemed almost alluring, if it had not been for higher senses sending frantic warning messages. A brown, bushy haired head tipped upwards, its gaze nearly reaching the rooftops before its ears registered an eerily familiar sound that forced it to hurry up and get out of this forsaken place as fast as possible.

A dark figure watched from the rooftops, silently following after the young fellow on the ground as it nervously entered an alleyway like prey trying to avoid a predator. A slimy tongue brushed against sharpened yellowing teeth. Cracked and dry lips twitched upwards into a demented smirk as a horrible sound was uttered from its throat reminiscent of a laugh. Its normally cleaner clothing was completely covered with filth, dried and caked blood of its victims and Boomer bile from an earlier encounter of the bloated infected being the main offenders. Hands decorated with razor sharp fingernails drummed against the bricks and concrete beneath it, and the creature snarled in irritation as it watched the young mammal below slowly navigate through a dark alley.

Loud coughing and hacking echoed from behind it, loud enough to attract its attention, but subtle enough not to cause the poor organism wandering below to recognize their presence. Turning around, it gave a curt nod to the oddly-dressed Smoker that waited behind it before prowling on the rooftops to get to a better spot. Crouching, it watched as its prey moved into its sights. Its rancid breath came out in heavy pants, leg muscles tensing and hands clenching and unclenching in preparation for the kill. The figure below flinched momentarily, looking around wildly like a caged animal before nervously pressing forward once again. The crouched figure staring at its pitiful existence from above smirked, feet positioned on the ledge of the building and powerful, toughened muscles flexing...

The Hunter never saw it coming.

Zoey uttered an earsplitting scream as she shot towards the alley at her prey at over sixty miles per hour. The Hunter screeched in surprise as it was suddenly slammed into the cold, wet, unfeeling ground below. Raising her claws triumphantly, Zoey dug her sharp nails into the pale skin of the Hunter's shirt, punching through the blue fabric of its shirt in the process, before bringing them upwards, the dark infected blood and shredded intestines of the Hunter spilling onto the concrete and asphalt below. Leaning closer to the infected, Zoey growled in the same feral language all infected used.

"You don't like it so much now that the tables are turned, do you?" Zoey growled between clenched, jagged blood stained teeth, saliva dripping onto the Hunter's face.

The Hunter made no reply besides a few, panicked squeals and grunts. Its own clawed hands were busy trying to fend off his demented attacker, weak shoves being traded with ferocious blows from the petite female. Zoey bared her bloodied fangs in response and sunk them into the Hunter's neck with the viciousness of an evil monster, determined to get to the vein where the precious life blood flowed thickly.

Crimson red liquid poured out of the Hunter's veins and spilled onto the rain splattered ground below, leaving thin scarlet trails in its wake. Light spilling from a blinking floodlight displayed a menacing feminine figure brutally mauling a defenseless man, blood spraying all over their clothing and the surroundings; rainwater pooled in the potholes displayed a similar reflection before the image was shattered by droplets of the Hunter's life blood.

Zoey gave the dying Hunter a sick grin, her grass green eyes that once showed warmth and affection now hollow and bloodthirsty. The infected's rebuttals were becoming weaker and weaker with every stroke Zoey made against his pale flesh. It was purely exhilarating, watching the Hunter become the hunted. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, the thrill of the hunt and finally achieving her revenge fueling her desire to the see the last vestiges of life fleeing the body of one of the infected humans that had tortured her almost endlessly for weeks on end.

The loud hacking sounds of another zombie caught her ears and she didn't need to turn around to know who or rather what was behind her. The Hunter, hoping to take advantage of the distraction, now resorted to trying to kick her off. Zoey snarled in response and forced her attention back to the struggling zombie pinned beneath her, ignoring the one edging closer to her from his vantage point within a building. That Smoker glared at the female hacking away at his compatriot with her clawed hands through his infected orbs, preparing to punish her...

...and found himself falling out of the window a mere second later. Bill smirked as his tongue curled around the mangled, infected flesh of the Smoker and pulled again, taking great pleasure in doing so. The mutated veteran's tongue snugly curled around the Smoker's tumor ridden arms, pinning them to his side before he began to slowly but surely crush the zombie's ribs. The zombie desperately tried to shoot his tongue and incapacitate the raging young woman, but the diseased tongue crushing his chest with ever growing intensity reminded him of his dire predicament as he was pulled from his vantage point to fall to the ground before the tongue tightened and he found himself suspended a couple of feet from the ground.

The Hunter whimpered as his partner in crime was rendered helpless by his attacker's friend. It raised its hooded head and his eyeless face stared at Zoey's own vestige sadly as if it were begging for mercy. Zoey merely smirked at the Hunter and shook her head slowly, tauntingly, her wild, loose hair flying in front of her face as a gentle breeze blew by. The Hunter seemed to tip his head in acknowledgement, now knowing the full weight of his guilt and accepting his inevitable fate. The young adult raised her hand once more in the night, the moonlight reflecting off of the glistening blood covering the full length of her arms. Zoey's clawed hand sailed through the air and landed with a sick thump on the Hunter's chest.

Blood splashed onto the white concrete of the buildings nearby, staining them a bright red color. The water collecting in the puddles rippled and shimmered as red droplets fell like rain. The ensnared Smoker watched the scene helplessly from its final position, suspended two feet above the alley by another Smoker's tongue.

The university student now turned to the choking Smoker with a growing toothy smirk. The defenseless zombie thrashed helplessly in Bill's unnaturally strong grasp, labored coughs and wheezes forced out of his chest. Its yellow, diseased eye slightly widened in horror as Zoey lapped up some of the Hunter's blood, the metallic scent and tang of the liquid driving her into a frenzy.

Whipping around, the maniacal college girl turned to face the slowly dying zombie, her eyes shining brightly with malice as she slowly licked her lips and bloodied hands in a manner described to be close to a feral behavior. Blood dribbled from her chin and onto her red track suit and white T-shirt, now stained blood red from her recent kill. Slowly rising from her position, her eyes flicked to a side of a dumpster as her keen eyes recognized a shadowed form that had a bright glint in the moonlight. She bent towards the ground, reaching out for the object that had drastically stood out from its dreary surroundings.

The katana almost felt unnatural in her mutilated hands, but that did not stop her from exploring the weapon, admiring the Japanese weapon for its simple beauty and its capability for mass destruction. She had used this weapon once, when she used to be human, but the feeling of sheer domination over everything that crossed her path was still fresh in her mind. Her thin, gray-pink lips pulled back to reveal more of her sharpened teeth and her hands firmly grasped the katana's handle.

The heels of her red Converse sneakers dug into the rocky ground as the unhinged female abruptly turned around, clutching the blade tightly as if it were completely made out of precious metals and gems. Slowly advancing towards the helpless Smoker piñata, the edge of the katana's blade scraped against the rough ground. The zombie's struggles became more urgent, the Smoker resorting to slamming his body against the building, just to receive a temporary reprieve from his torment. Bill uttered loud screeches in pain as his tongue was brutally scraped against the building's concrete and brick wall and thrashed the Smoker against the same wall in reproof.

The blade glistened in the few rays of the moon that made it through the broken clouds as Zoey stopped and raised it above her head, the instrument of death shining a bright silver color in contrast to the depressing picture feverishly painted by the Green Flu virus. A whistling sound was accompanied by a dull thud as the blade sailed through the air and hit its mark. The blade cleanly sliced through the Smoker's chest like a hot knife through butter, only a hair away from cutting into the veteran's tongue.

A mere second passed, and the sound of an exploding bag was accompanied by a large plume of acrid green smoke. The bottom half of the Smoker came free of Bill's tongue and fell to the ground with a dull thump.

Zoey wiped the diseased blood off of the katana with the deceased Smoker's pants and gave a short nonverbal greeting to Bill, who then coughed in response and retracted his tongue.

Turning her head to the heavens, Zoey carefully strapped the katana to her back and took to the skies, leaping onto the side of a bloodied building before turning around and bouncing to another building on the other side of a deserted alley, rapidly ascending to the top of the higher buildings which surrounded the alley she was occupying.

Rooftops became blurs to the infected female as she flew by them, though a strange sight did catch her attention. She swore she saw two hulking figures with their hands interlocked with one another in the brutal show of strength in arm wrestling as she leaped into a shattered window of a decrepit building. One had a tattered tie hanging from his swollen neck while the other had bits of what used to be a leather vest covering his shoulders lingering over an abandoned car, both Tanks squabbling in a series of grunts and roars.

She pushed the thought out of her mind and began cautiously making her way through the littered remains of the apartment, pausing as her nose registered a familiar scent. Practically crawling on the floor, drawn in by the magnetizing smell, Zoey drew closer and closer to its source. Coming closer, she could faintly make out two limp figures in the dark, as well as intestines and brains practically all over the floor; it was obvious that their corpses were treated more as a snack bar than anything else to the infected that had moseyed into the building. Still, they hadn't exactly been eaten to the point where they weren't recognizable anymore- some untouched pieces of their faces revealed their identities.

Moving closer, Zoey gently brushed the back of her hand against their cold, clammy skin, wistfully gazing into their empty eyes. Memories rushed into her head once more, and she nearly keeled over as they forced their way into her mind, into where she was most vulnerable. She dully remembered the blissful, yet short-lived, years that both parents had lived with each other and loved every member in their family unconditionally. After an argument that turned for the worse; they had separated, and now were practically spitting venom at each other whenever both of them met.

However, the longer Zoey stared at their corpses, the more memories she remembered, as with the familiar wedding vow she had once heard in movies long ago- the vow that the couple would stay together until death parted them.

"Mom... Dad..."

Her lips creased into a deep frown as she gazed at the remains of her parents' bodies. Curling up into a small ball, she nestled as close to their rotting forms as she could, staring at the remains of the city outside through the broken windows before settling in. She held the dead forms of her mother and father close to her, as if they could still protect her even in death, nervously clenching and unclenching her teeth.

"I'm lost..."

Storm clouds started gathering in the horizon. Thunder loudly rumbled and lightening flashed from the sky, illuminating the world for one moment before fading into darkness again. Rain started to pour from the dark gray clouds and drenched everything within seconds, washing away the city's accumulated filth and sins.

"Help me..."

**[Page Break]**

Grass green eyes snapped open instantly. Zoey practically shot out of her sleeping bag upon awakening and uttered a loud gasp, her body completely covered in a slick layer of sweat. Francis snorted in his sleep, grumbling more objects he hated before his thunderous snores rocked the safe room once more. Her hands were sore from unconsciously tightly clutching her Hunting Rifle for at least an hour. By the ache in her teeth and the taste of grime and gunpowder in her mouth, she deduced that she had been chewing on the gun too. She ran a hand through her loose, unwashed hair and combed it before replacing her green hair tie.

It had been so unnatural... so real...

The college student edged towards a corner as quietly as she could, hoping to sort out what she had seen... what she had felt. The odor of lingering cigarette smoke reached her nose, and she turned towards the veteran, who had his eyes closed, but from his breathing pattern, she knew he was still awake. Zombies mutely shuffled outside, not making a sound besides quiet grunts to each other. Zoey gazed through the steel bars of the safe room door, feeling a cool breeze as it blew through the room. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled to the bone not from the wind, but from her dreams and lingering doubts on her group's abilities to survive the zombie apocalypse in the long run.

Zoey sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into sweet unconsciousness once more just as the first of the sun's morning light crept through the room, causing trees to cast long shadows on the forsaken world.

Her dreams were far from peaceful.

* * *

><p>I might do more than one chapter for each of the survivors (I had another one for Zoey), but I'll see how I do with Francis and Louis.<p>

Despite Hunters not being able to hang off the side of buildings, as seen in the intro clip to the game, human players in Versus mode can climb buildings by pouncing to the side of a building, rapidly turning and pouncing again (to a building on the other side of the alley), and repeating the process [by leaping to and from the side of the starting building] until they have reached the rooftops.


	3. Wasted Youth

A huge thank you goes out to my two critics- Beriothien Nenharma and Rachel on their support of "Dreams".

'Wasted Youth' is the result of a competition/bet- Beriothien Nenharma vs. Commando Wolf.

Please forgive the long amount of time it took in creating this chapter- it was delayed due to preoccupation with several other projects and schoolwork (a deadly combination).

* * *

><p><strong>Francis<strong>

The sun brightly shone through a park in Portland, Oregon, bathing the scenery in its warm, luminescent glow. People milled about the picnic area, talking with one another or grilling various meats. Dads and moms alike engaged in a diverse amount of sports and games with their children, not caring if their attire got dirtied in the process. Nobody paid the slightest attention to a small boy frolicking in the wild flowers, playing catch with himself and taking the time to enjoy the small things in life that people normally took for granted.

The cool winds felt pleasing on the small boy's skin as he jammed a handful of beef jerky in his pockets and ran through the lush grass and tumbled after a ball that landed at the edge of a thickly wooded area. Outwardly, he showed no signs of his inner turmoil, of how his problematic father had coldly left his mother without a single word, leaving her to grieve and struggle to support herself and her son with the measly pay from a series of menial jobs. Despite this, when she had any minute of spare time, she would often bring Francis to the park and watch him play.

Francis's young mind was too dim and inexperienced to understand, but sometimes he heard her crying at the dead of night into a pillow. Other times he had saw her at the dinner table, a brown bottle with strange-smelling liquid within in her hand and splatters of vomit decorating the trash can. He had no idea what was bothering his mother, but he often found himself tentatively approaching her and wrapping his small, thin arms around her quivering form and attempting to comfort her as best as he possibly could.

The seven year old shouted in exuberance as he spotted his prize bouncing towards a clump of bushes, his gaze completely focused on the single white object as he energetically dashed towards it. He had nearly forgotten that his mother often warned him against getting lost within the depths of the forest, but the jovial child paid no attention to the advice; surely there was nothing scary in the park, otherwise people would not be here. Suddenly, a small brown mass of fur dashed from the depths of the woods, abruptly interrupting his thought process.

A set of white teeth flashed out and Francis cried in horror and backed away in fear, covering his eyes and holding out his arms protectively in front of him. His heart pounded against his chest as his panic flowed through his veins. Visions of a ferocious monster tearing him apart filled his head as he recalled assorted tales that his mother had read to him as bedtime stories. Maybe the park wasn't as safe as people thought! Maybe his mother was right after all! Francis trembled at the thought and tucked his arms and legs into his torso protectively, waiting for the worst to come.

However, when he did not feel any sharp sensations piercing through his skin, he slowly let his arms down and curiously peeked at the creature sitting before him.

There, a small puppy that was no more than two months of age, patiently sat on its haunches with its attention completely turned towards the baseball. Growls were issued from its throat as it tried to grasp the small object with its teeth, placing both of its front paws on the orb to steady it. The male Siberian husky's coat was brown, with patches of pure white coloring on its face, chest, and paws. Dirt completely covered its coat of fur, with small branches and twigs tenaciously clinging onto the hairs. It didn't have any collar on it, or any indication that it had once belonged to somebody else. It was most likely the runt of its litter and had subsequently ran away from insufficient caring from its handlers.

Francis dumbly stared at the puppy for a moment before carefully extending a hand to grab the ball. The husky growled, brown eyes cautiously watching the focal point of interest as the mysterious boy picked it up. Flexing his arm muscles, his grip on the ball loosened as Francis chucked it as far as he could. The husky barked once and dashed after it, enthusiastically pouncing on the small object, wagging its tiny tail and happily barking furiously. It batted at the ball with its forepaws, amused with the simple toy.

Thrown sticks and small branches did nothing to coerce the puppy to relent its control of the ball. However, when Francis remembered that dogs liked meat and removed a small piece of jerky from his pocket, the small dog cautiously stepped towards him, ears swiveled forward and both eyes affixed on the treat. It inched its head forward and sniffed the item as Francis knelt down and let the dried meat come into its eye level. Pleased with how it smelled, the husky took the bait and darted towards it, completely forgetting about its toy.

Grinning, Francis retrieved the ball with relative ease, the puppy contentedly sinking its tiny teeth into the dried meat and trying its darnedest to tear a tiny piece off. Scooping the small, surprised animal into his arms and placing the soiled ball into another pocket with little thought, he happily bounded off as fast as his short legs would allow him to the picnic area, eagerly searching out his mother and boldly presenting the small bundle of fur to her. The puppy emitted small barks and whimpers of terror, unused to being so far from the safety of the ground.

"Mommy, mommy! Can I keep it? Can I keep it?" Francis begged, holding tighter to the puppy.  
>"Honey, the way we're going right now, I don't think that we're able to afford having any animals. Taking dogs to the vet isn't only time consuming, but it is expensive and a hassle to keep on going there if the dog contracts a disease!" Francis's mother gently replied, watching the uncomfortable puppy trying to wriggle out of the boy's arms.<br>"Please mommy? I promise to take care of it!" Francis desperately pleaded as his mother nervously ran her hand through her hair. "Look, I'll even give it a bath when we come home and take it out for walks and even give 'em one of my sweaters to keep 'em warm!"  
>"How are we supposed to-"<br>"Pleeeeeaaaaseeeee? I'll let him sleep in my room; I have a spare blanket!"  
>"Francis..."<br>"Please?"  
>"Well, I suppose we could" she sighed, crumbling under the puppy dog pout her son gave her. "But you have to help more around the house and do small jobs for the neighbors to help pay for it..."<p>

The boy shouted in exuberance, giving the pup an affectionate hug and a small kiss on the side of its muzzle. The dog woofed in confusion to its new owner's sudden behavioral change and moved its head from side to side, still attempting to find a way to get back down to the ground. Samantha lightly smiled as he son exhibited the simple joy of finally having an animal companion to play and spend time with. Moments like these were few and far in between, but they always managed to make up for time lost in squalor and despair ever since she was fired from her job as an accountant.

"Thank you, mommy!" Francis chirped, holding the puppy in the air and displayed his teeth in a full blown grin. "...and I know just what to call it! I'll name it... Pam!"  
>"Um, sweetie? I don't think that's a girl puppy." Samantha noted, quirking an eyebrow in amusement.<br>"His name is Pam!" Francis insisted, petting the dog.  
>"I still don't think Pam is a fitting name for a-"<br>"Pam is short for pamplemousse"  
>"Well, I suppose if you put it that way..." Sam conceded, motioning with her hand for her son to follow her back to their car. "But I still don't think it would appreciate being called a grapefruit all the time"<p>

**[Page Break]**

"Francis! Francis, where are you?" his mother loudly called, looking at the stark white expanse that lay before her.

She shivered, unaccustomed to the colder weather Portland had been experiencing for some time now without her favorite apparel on- a bright red jacket that was overstuffed with down feathers and made her look like she had put on at least a hundred pounds, brown mittens, and a white parka. It wasn't in her plans for an impromptu excursion from the comfortable confines of her home, but she had swiftly noticed that a certain blue coat had been left on the chair she placed it on for him.

"Francis! You're going to get a cold if you don't get out of this weather without your jacket on!" she called out once more into the barren landscape, her voice echoing in the recesses of the wilderness.

Meanwhile, the said ten year old boy was busy on a medium sized snow-covered hill with his sled, making sure the makeshift harness was securely fastened to its front. He had seen this on TV once, watching the Iditarod race in Alaska before his mother had made him go off to bed with the promise of cookies and warm milk.

Eager to try it out, he had dashed outside and hitched Steele- formerly called Pam- to his wooden sled that he had crudely crafted out of thick branches tied together with fraying rope. The husky had grown to his full size quite a while ago, which was perfect, as this year had a record amount of snowfall.

What made him more excited was that the snow conditions were almost perfect and he just had finished tightening the series of ropes that resembled the traces of actual harnesses. He hadn't remembered to put on his coat before he left, and the cold was relentlessly nipping at his bared flesh. His mouth watered as he imagined rich hot chocolate running down his throat and the pungent scent of freshly baked gingerbread cooked. Shivering, he wished he had picked up his snow gear before he left, but it was too late now, and he only had time for one run before he had to go back inside.

Clearing his throat, he mounted the sled and imitated the rough, bearded men he had seen on the television, his voice cracking through the frigid air like a whip.

"Gee!" he commanded sharply, dark brown eyes surveying the landscape.

Steele jerked to the right, and soft crunching sounds occurred as the snow was crushed under the sled's weight.

"Haw!" he barked, tightening his grip on the rope.

The husky yipped in response and sharply pulled to the left, ripping the sled from the icy grip of the icy snow.

"Now... mush!"

Steele surged forward, straining against the breast-band and digging its paws into the ground. Slowly but surely, the sled began to move. Laughing, the child's warm breath heated the frigid air; clouds of white smoke issued from his mouth as he exhaled in eager anticipation. The sled sliced through the snow easily, marring the smooth surface of the frozen water particles with twin tracks and numerous paw prints. Soon, the form of both human and beast disappeared over the horizon towards the direction of both mother and warmth.

**[Page Break]**

"It's not fair," a fourteen year old Francis scowled as he perched himself on the porch's edge, watching his mother and a man converse with one another and petted the husky's head. "Why is _he _here? He wasn't even supposed to come back."

Steele merely woofed in reply, unconcerned with the comings and goings of strange humans, laying its head on the wooden flooring of the porch and wearily closing its eyes. The man turned around to face the front of the house and grinned, waving the irate teenager over to him.

"Come here, champ! I haven't seen you in ages!" the man cheerfully called, oblivious to the icy response Francis gave him. "Give your old man a hug"

The adolescent glowered, inhaling sharply and crossing his arms in front of his chest stubbornly, daring the man to try to sweet-talk him again as if nothing had happened.

"Want me to talk with him?" he heard his mother whisper to his father, shooting worried glances at him.  
>"No, he's probably just unused to seeing me here" Danny replied, turning back around to engage in another conversation with his ex-wife. "I still say you should have named him Tucker"<br>"Tucker Foley?"  
>"Yeah, after my grandfather!"<p>

She gave a small laugh, but stopped when another thought crossed his mind and frowned, eyes hardening into a steely glare.

"You know, I personally haven't gotten over how you coldly left me here to fend for myself" Samantha dryly noted, a frown quickly forming. "And I still haven't forgiven you for it"  
>"Samantha, my dearest" Danny exclaimed, cupping one of her hands in his and staring in her eyes pleadingly.<p>

Sam wrinkled her nose at the term of endearment he chose, made even worse at the sickly honeyed tone he insisted on using. Danny smiled uncertainly at the awkward predicament he found himself in.

"You must believe that it was not easy for me to leave you."  
>"And what if I don't believe it?" she snorted, picking at the wildflowers growing in between blades of grass absentmindedly.<br>He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know I drank a little too much that night, and-"  
>"There were three freshly emptied bottles of beer on the floor"<br>"And I apologize, because it led me to physically abuse you-"  
>"I still have the scar on my arm..." Samantha glowered, her fingers faintly tracing the long, scar that originated from Danny's drunken attack with a kitchen knife.<br>"...I know I've done a ton of stupid stuff all those years ago... I was young and..."  
>"A moron?" she snorted disbelievingly. "That's the excuse you're going to pull out of your ass in order to convince me you've changed. Please tell me that you're joking"<br>"I'm..." he halted, biting his tongue.  
>"Don't tell me that you're sorry" She snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest irritably. "I know you're not, especially after you-"<br>"...hit Francis."

She stopped, bitter tears on the verge of spilling as she recalled the bitter memories of a time where Francis was too young to recall such events. Without warning, her hand shot out, and her palm made contact with Danny's right cheek. He staggered backwards, hand lightly touching his smarting face.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, assaulting his body with punches and scratches from her long nailed hands, taking a strange pleasure in watching him helpless against her assault. "You had no right to touch an inch of his body!"

"Mom, stop!"

Sam whipped around to find her son running towards her, husky trotting alongside him. Growling lightly, she stopped her barrage of punches and scratches reluctantly.

Danny said nothing, but gave a small smile anxiously at her cession of attacks, worried that anything else he would say would be used against him.

She huffed in disgust and shot him a withering glare as she suddenly got up and walked into the house without a word, leaving a bleeding man, a bemused child, and a husky behind.

**[Page Break]**

Danny paced restlessly around the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor, a clear bottle with dark liquid in his hand, and a pack of cigarettes in the other. His bloodshot eyes flicked back and forth as if searching for something that only he could see. His mouth moved, but no words came from his lips, only mere ghosts of them. Once in a while, a hand drifted to his front left pocket, as if he were afraid that the item in it could disappear from his jeans at any moment.

Francis hid in the shadows and watched his father carefully, careful to remain completely silent and stay well within the shrouding confines of the long winter faux fur coats. From the vantage point he had in the coat closet, he was free to observe people from afar; an interesting hobby, given the short attention span normal for boys around his age.

For a month now, his father had been living with them after Samantha had reluctantly allowed him to stay with them, having failed to find a job that would at least allow him to rent a small apartment. Although he declined to freely show it, his father's pent up rage at his unemployment situation was reaching his peak, and the alcoholic drinks he was chugging down every night weren't doing anything to help this situation. Family life was getting more strained than ever due to his father's dependence on the liquids and simply being another mouth to feed.

Danny violently threw the bottle of vodka at the floor, scowling at his son and former wife in his drunken rage. It shattered into hundreds of green shards, which reflected the overhead lighting in a thousand different ways. Steele leaped to his feet with a feral growl, teeth bared and fur bristling. The liquid sloshed over the freshly mopped floor, threading in the crevices made by the group between the light brown tiles.

Without warning, Danny flew towards Samantha and pinned her against the wall with both hands firmly pressing against her shoulders.

"Stop that!" Francis shouted, shooting out of the closet and tugging at the back of Danny's shirt. "You're hurting her!"  
>"Lay off, kid" he snarled, shoving his son away dismissively "You're not part of this conversation!"<br>"I am now!" Francis declared icily.  
>"Enough of this!" Danny shouted, his bloodshot eyes wide and lips pulled back to reveal two rows of badly discolored teeth.<p>

He released his hold on Samantha and whirled around to face his son. With a mighty roar, he slapped Francis full across the face with a hand and whipped out a M1911A1 pistol from his jeans pocket.

Instantly, Steele went into a mad barking frenzy, intensely focused on the man who it deemed as a threat. The husky was a blur of brown fur as he leapt to and fro, white fangs snapping open and close.

The inebriated man howled in anguished as his arms were lacerated by the dog's sharp teeth. He smashed the husky's head with a fist, but the dog did not desist in his assault and instead ferociously intensified the attack's intensity. Steele clawed at the man with his front paws and latched onto the man's bleeding appendages with his jaw as the boy pushed the man away from his mother.

Danny grunted in pain and levered the pistol at the dog, struggling against the canine's weight and the influence of the alcoholic drinks he had earlier. Groaning in pain, his finger squeezed the trigger not once, but four times, and the husky slumped ungracefully onto the floor with a sharp squeal and a small whimper of surprise.

"Steele!" Francis shouted, attempting to clamber over to the dying husky. "It's gonna be alright buddy, just you wait and see! Just hang on a little while longer!" the boy pleaded, rubbing the dog's front paws soothingly and scratching behind its ears.  
>"Francis!" Sam called, struggling to pull him away from the bleeding pet. "C'mon", she cried, practically shoving him into his room and slamming the door behind her.<p>

A loud thump on the wooden barrier not a second later indicated Danny's failure of pursuit.

"I liked you better when you were drunk!" he roared, slamming his fist against the door that prevented his drunken rage from hurting his former wife and son.

Francis's mother yelped and held Francis protectively in her arms, putting her full weight against the door as Danny continued his attack, hoping he was drunk enough so that he wouldn't think of shooting through the door.

Several minutes later, he finally gave up and stomped away, only pausing momentarily to spit on the now deceased canine's corpse disgustedly as her departed from the house.

Sam waited until the sound of his mismatched footsteps had long faded away before releasing her grip on her son and giving him a sad smile.

"It was my mistake to accept him back into my life. ...It was... my fault to even accept him back at all... in my home... with you while I was trying to protect you from... never mind. But... things are going to be better, though, Francis." She whispered, rubbing his back and staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

**[Page Break]**

Despite his mother's soothing words, things did not go better at all.

Several weeks after the incident, they moved from their home in Portland, Oregon to a small town in Pennsylvania called Fairfield after respectfully burying their much loved pet.

His mother died two years after the move from problems resulting from her alcoholic dependence and smoking, the ill effects finally taking its toll on the woman. Francis was sent to a foster home by a court judge's ruling, where he developed a morbid fear of any bodies of water after a near-drowning experience due to his lack of experience with swimming.

He began to compile a list of things he bitterly hated, starting from the resentment of his mother's undeserved death and his practically non-existent father. The list grew as he aged, containing everything from vans (near death incident) to planes (fear of heights) and stairs (tumbling down two flights of them after slipping).

At age 24, he had been employed by Hersh, a shipping company, but was subsequently fired for assaulting and inadvertently murdering a man a mere week later after his uniform shorts were made fun of by the aforementioned client. A deal made between him and the judge after a period of incarceration had prevented him from going to prison for life, but he still loathed the very thought of that moment of weakness and of pure desperation.

From there, he ignored all forms of authority, joined the Hell's Legion gang, and was jailed several times over the course of 10 years for various counts of larceny and unlawful possession of illegal substances. Unable to find work due to having committed second-degree murder, he relied on his drinking buddies, Duke and Danny, to supply him with extra cash when he needed it.

On October 29, 2008, approximately a week after the first infection, he had broken into an electronics store at 1:30 in the morning and was caught by an on-duty police officer who had happened to be passing by the area in his patrol car. Francis was sentenced to go to prison where conjugal visits were forbidden.

At 10:18 PM later that day, he was bitten by Sandra, who was then killed by Duke. Realizing the outbreak of zombies, he gleefully ordered Duke and Danny to the top of the bar and started shooting at the horde of 1,000 infected with a worn pump shotgun to the beat of the Midnight Riders.

He had briefly outlined a list with the approximate dates of important events during his travels, attempting to remain sane in a world where all authority had magically disappeared.

On November 5, he met Bill in an alley after both of his friends died and then met Zoey and Louis within a period span of 4 days and was rescued from Mercy Hospital via helicopter on November 11. After surviving the helicopter crashing after the infected pilot turned into a zombie, he drove from Truck Depot to Riverside on November 12.

He then escaped Riverside after finding that all attempts at evacuation in that area had failed and travelled with Bill, Francis, and Louis on November 14, arriving at Metro International Airport on November 17. Escape was made possible with a C130 with group later that day and arrived at Allegheny National Park on November 19 after a day of wandering (plane had crashed). On November 22, the group was transported by the Military to Millhaven and escaped from the detainment center on November 23 at 2:10 in the morning via a train.

**[Page Break]**

He was pulled from his dreams by somebody lightly prodding his stomach, chest, and back with light, dancing fingers.

Francis yawned as he rolled from his side onto his back, stuck his tongue out, and stretched his arms and legs, curling and uncurling his toes all the while. His dreams, mainly consisting of memories from his former life, were now running into each other like wet paint, making it hard to recall what the dream was even about. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill cleaning his assault rifle while light footsteps he knew that could only be Zoey's padded behind him towards the ammo cache.

Scratching his stomach with a dirt-caked hand, it was only after a few seconds of leisurely scratching that he realized that his vest was gone. He scowled, suspecting the one person that was not in the room right now.

"Louis!"  
>"What, man!" his friend yelled back, venom seeping into his words as he tightened his grip on his SMG, hoping that the zombies outside where he was toileting didn't hear them. "I'm on the can right now!"<br>"You stole my vest!"  
>"What!"<br>"You! Stole! My! Vest!"  
>"No, man, Zoey did."<br>"ZOOOOEEEYYYY!"

Zoey playfully swatted at his back with an arm before ducking out his arms' range as he attempted to scramble to his feet and reciprocate the harmless gesture. She wore his vest over her track suit, occasionally attempting to imitate his voice and actions.

The college girl ducked under his arms and swiftly started to run around the room, laughing and avoiding his attempts to catch her. However, Francis slyly caught up to her and tackled her to the ground, sending both of them in hysterics.

"Enough horseshit, you two" Bill grumbled in a gruff tone, a cigarette already lit and stuck in between his lips.

Zoey stuck her tongue out at the aged veteran and gave Francis a small smile before getting up and tossing the vest back to its rightful owner.

The biker smirked and silently snickered at Bill's "grumpy old guy" act, deftly catching the black cloth with a gloved hand. Louis slipped back through the safe room door after "doing his business", looking at the room's occupants and quirking an eyebrow in amusement.

Bill rolled his eyes and continued to clean the grime from the assault rifle, turning away from them and still mumbling to himself that he was like a caretaker for a bunch of babies.

Little did he know, his beret was not on his head anymore.

Zoey gave Francis and a bemused Louis a Cheshire cat grin before replicating Bill's every action while making exaggerated cranky expressions at the two, the beret partially hiding one of her eyes.

"I didn't sign up for this shit" the elderly man grunted, oblivious to Zoey.

Francis and Louis stared at Bill and Zoey before looking at each other and bursting into hearty chuckles.

"The hell are you two sniggering about?" the war veteran ordered as the two men bit their lips in an attempt to stifle their chortles.  
>"N…nothing…" Louis managed to get out in between fits of laughter.<p>

Bill grunted in irritation and turned around, catching Zoey's impersonation of his petulant glare in her hardened emerald eyes, and nearly falling from the table in surprise.

"Bull frikking-!"  
>"Horseshit!" Zoey exclaimed in her best impression of the elderly man's voice.<p>

* * *

><p>The following dates I have supplied are not verified and were merely constructed for the purpose of this story.<p>

I think the events of Blood Harvest took place in November (lack of leaves on trees, if I remember the map correctly). Therefore, I constructed a small time line. By that reasoning, the events of Left 4 Dead most likely take place in the months of September-November (otherwise they'd be probably wearing winter/summer gear).


End file.
